Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Barry Armstrong woke early, shivering. It was
not solely due to the increasing bite of winter. He lay in bed, staring
ruefully at the Marsha-size vacancy the seeping daylight revealed.

He
almost couldn’t face the day. The awkward questions his girls would ask at
breakfast. But he knew if he did not rise, his mind would lose traction on the
famous slippery slope to self-pity and depression.

Barry
had always taken people at face value. He liked simplicity. He had never given
it much consideration, but he supposed his love of simplicity had drawn him to
engineering as a career. With machines, you put them together or you stripped
them down and everything made sense. Machines didn’t have secret places where
parts were hidden. They had blueprints where everything was laid out in plain
view.

Barry
had met Marsha at university. She was studying to be a doctor. He considered
that an admirable pursuit. She was learning to decipher bodies just as he was
learning to decipher machines.

Their
lives together had followed a common pattern. They graduated, moved in
together, did a few years of OE and returned to New Zealand to embark upon
sensible adulthood.

They
had been married thirteen years and had two healthy daughters, Hayley, eight,
and Rose, six. He had considered himself blessed.

Their
coterie of friends was mostly couples. When Marsha introduced Judy to the
group, Barry teased his wife in private about “rescuing lame ducks”. He assumed
that Judy had been unlucky in love.

When
Roger joined Barry’s firm, Barry saw his chance to play Good Samaritan. Roger’s
divorce was a distant enough memory that he was ready to start dating.

An
intimate dinner for four seemed a perfect idea. But Barry hadn’t reckoned on
Marsha falling in love with a woman.

POET'S NOTE: It was so much fun writing flash fiction stories for the National Flash Fiction Day competition, that I decided to post another flash fiction instead of a poem this week. Mix it up a little bit, keep things interesting.

Don't forget to visit my fellow Tuesday Poets in the sidebar for lots of good reading to brighten your day.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

I
do not wish to trouble you because I am just a humble merchant and you have a
vast and prosperous country to run. I know that you are making huge
technological strides to improve the lives and comfort of your people and to
keep the capitalist running dogs of the West at bay.

In
the People's Republic of China, we look on with great admiration as you advance
the power and prestige of the international Communist cause.

Although
the Great Devil, Obama, and his sycophants mocked your recent satellite launch,
was it not our own venerable philosopher, Lao Tzu, who said: “A
journey of a thousand li starts with
a single step.”?

These
decadent Westerners do not know the infinite patience of the Asian peoples. In
the land of the Great Satan, everything must happen instantly.

I
know that such a trifling setback will not deter a Great Leader like you.

Unfortunately,
your setback has had repercussions in my humble life too. I live in Shanghai where I operate a factory
trying to keep up with the insatiable demands of the great capitalist, Steve
Jobs. Although his company puts food on my table, I spit on his grave.

None
grieves your unsuccessful satellite launch more than me, but some of its debris
came downon the
newly painted roof of my factory. Now the space debris is stuck in the fresh
paint.

It
will cost me thousands of yuan to have the debris removed and the roof
repainted. I know you are a generous leader who cares for the plight of the
little man so I am confident that you will honour my claim for compensation.

Yours in glorious socialism,

Zhang Aiguo

WRITER'S NOTE: Today many of us on the Tuesday Poem blog roll are posting Flash Fiction instead of poems to celebrate National Flash Fiction Day. I invite you to read lots of other wonderful flash fictions on the other Tuesday Poets' blogs.

POET'S NOTE: The recent snowfalls in Canterbury and the impending possibility of another soon made me think about when we first moved down to Christchurch from Wellington and how we had to get used to a very different climate. Also, from time to time, I shamelessly indulge in a bit of parental nostalgia because my oldest son, Thomas, was only 15 months old when we moved to Christchurch and now he is thirteen and embarking on that journey towards independence, the unravelling which is inevitable in all parent-child relationships.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: I've only just realised that I have posted this poem before and I don't like to repeat myself, but it was back in July 2011 and, I guess like songs on the radio, the odd repeat play never hurt anyone. And I'm particularly fond of this poem.

* Wagin is yet another country town in the Wheatbelt of Western Australia.

POET'S NOTE: Penelope, one of my fellow Tuesday Poets, is right, of course. The Limerick is supposed to be a form with a degree of scurrilousness. In that spirit, I offer these slightly more risque limericks than those posted last week.